


Anything When the Time’s Right

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, baby steps, dancing to beyonce, just to be clear, not actual babies though, unabashed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  It's a random day in May, and Diggle and Felicity are being cute -- will Oliver participate or stay on the sidelines?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything When the Time’s Right

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: To all of my betas, because I started writing this in August and then put it on a shelf. So thanks, katelinnea, youguysimserious, carogables, and my girl jomarchfwf, who may not actually have seen this? 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Yeah, they're still not mine.

Diggle was tired.

Of a lot of things, if he were being honest, but mostly, in the moment, he was physically exhausted. Just bone-weary. Vigilante-ism should be a young man’s game. A young, single, unencumbered man’s game, because, damn, his daughter could scream. Kid had a pair of lungs on her, which made Dig as proud as he was tired.

Still, he showed up for Team Arrow most nights, and if he stuck more to backup than he had _before_ he had a seven-month-old daughter, well, that would just have to be okay with everyone.

It was, if he were being honest. In fact, most nights Felicity urged him to take naps in the lair, and Oliver had tried to take him out of the field altogether again -- that conversation hadn’t gone very well. But Diggle had napped earlier that night, actually, before joining Oliver to break up a particularly dim-witted wannabe mastermind’s attempts at bank robbery. Pretty easy night, but Diggle was still wrung out as he followed Oliver in through the back door of Verdant, holding himself rigidly upright while Oliver punched in the code, and then -- they both paused. 

And Diggle was never more pleased that Felicity hadn’t installed a camera to monitor their interior door, because he realized a little belatedly that he and Oliver both had their heads tilted quizzically to the left. They probably had matching expressions of befuddlement in place, because -- if he wasn’t mistaken, that was Beyonce blaring through the lair.

He didn’t recognize the song, but he knew her voice. And the music was turned up loud, echoing through the semi-dark, usually rather quiet lair below Verdant.

“What the--?”

And then a second voice joined Beyonce’s, and Diggle started to grin.

Felicity.

Of course Felicity.

Diggle couldn’t see Oliver’s face, but he sure noticed the way his friend’s shoulders loosened a bit, the way his back straightened at the sound. At the realization.

Not that either of them really feared a nefarious, _Beyonce-blaring_ criminal had infiltrated the lair, but confirmation was always good.

Oliver glanced back at Dig, a look of almost mischief on his face as he used military hand signals to indicate silent advance. Diggle snorted and rolled his eyes, but he was pretty curious to see what, exactly, Felicity was doing, so he moved quietly down the stairs behind Oliver.

Her computers were running, code and searches scrolling down the monitors, but she wasn’t in the chair. Instead, the overhead lights illuminated the training mats, where Felicity was--

Diggle tried very, very hard not to laugh. Mostly because he knew she might take it the wrong way. The last thing he was doing was laughing _at_ Felicity. No, it was simple happiness bubbling in his chest, simple appreciation for her irrepressible spirit.

But Dig wasn’t the kind of guy who _bubbled_ , generally speaking, so he just crossed his arms and grinned at Felicity. Felicity, who wore a tight, bright blue tank top and black yoga pants, was _sort of_ sparring with the training dummy. Kind of. Her feet were spread, and she _was_ hitting it. But she was hitting it in time with the music, using it as a glorified drumset, and instead of using her thighs for leverage, pressing up and through her stance to add power and momentum to her punches, she was… well, she was dancing.

Or bouncing.

Diggle tilted his head, his eyes on her hips. Swaying, sort of. 

Considering Felicity was basically his kid sister at this point, the moment made him just the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

Until he looked over at Oliver to gauge his reaction and saw the clenched jaw, the fisted hands, the yearning stare.

And then Diggle started to laugh. These idiots.

“I’m a grooooooooown woman,” Felicity sang along, shimmying her hips just a bit in between each punch, “I can do whatever I--” She stopped suddenly, whirling around to face them, eyes wide. “Oh,” she said, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

“Felicity,” Diggle greeted, still grinning at her. “Nice moves.”

She was flushed with exertion, but Dig was pretty sure she blushed a little, too, before tilting her head at him. “Thanks,” she said, her voice raised to be heard over the music. “Just…” she grinned back at him, “working out.” Her gaze flicked to Oliver, then back. “Practicing my slick moves. And my dance moves, too. Which are, you know, _not_ slick, but probably passable? I don’t know. I’ve never been one for the clubs.” She hooked her thumb at the ceiling. “Despite all of that. Proximity to a dance club doesn’t really teach you how to Dougie, you know?”

Beside him, Oliver shook his head. “Dougie?” he echoed.

Dig wanted to elbow his friend -- of everything Felicity said, Oliver chose to focus on _that_? No wonder they were still mired in their mutual pining society. Sometimes Diggle felt like he worked in the middle of one of those damn Jane Austen books -- all loaded looks and repressed white people.

Felicity just looked at Oliver, her smile a little lopsided, and said, “Doesn’t matter. I just had some time to kill, and I didn’t expect you guys back so soon.” She sounded like the Felicity of old, the Felicity of the endless cheer and inappropriate phrasing. Considering how heavy things had been the last few months, it was a relief to see things returning a bit more to normal.

Diggle crossed his arms and leaned back against the table, grinning at Felicity. “Guy was a moron. Couldn’t see what was right in front of him,” Diggle remarked dryly. Oliver stiffened and glowered, and Dig promptly and easily ignored it. “I like the dance moves, Felicity,” he said. “Keeps the heart rate up, too. Probably not a bad addition to your workout routine if it keeps you at it longer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Felicity chirped, her eyes sparkling, “I could go all night like this!”

Beside him, Oliver made a strangled noise, and Diggle had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Oliver yanked his quiver free, tossed it onto the closest horizontal surface, and gestured toward the back room. “I’m gonna change.”

Dig wandered closer to Felicity, wincing as the song ended and another -- Lady Gaga? Ugh -- started up. “Want to spar a little?”

Felicity grinned up at him, hands on her hips. “Okay! Hey, do you have any dance moves you could teach me?”

Diggle rolled his eyes. “I don’t dance to shitty club music like this.”

She snorted, her eyes sparkling. “Okay, Mr. Smooth Guy. I’ll just assume you can’t actually dance.” 

She was in a rare mood, all amusement and cheekiness, which was the only reason Dig lifted his chin and said, “Oh, I can dance.” Not because he would never back down from a challenge. Not at all.

Felicity clapped her hands together, delighted. “Emergency dance party!” she said, moving quickly to her tablet and almost immediately the song cut to-- “Kanye!” Diggle must have been making a very confused face, because she laughed and said, “Oh, well, of course you haven’t read that, but it’s okay. Just -- dance!” 

Digg nodded along to the beat, but a brightly lit, alcohol-free training room wasn’t really the type of atmosphere that got him in the mood for dancing. “Felicity--”

But she was dancing toward him, goofy and grinning, and it was such a precious moment of levity after months of dreariness that he couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head, but still let her pull him out onto the mat. Hell if he would shake his groove thing here in the lair, though, so he jerked her closer and caught her with one hand light against her spine, pulling her into a proper dancing position before he smirked down at her. “Tango?”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “Uh, I don’t really know how to tango,” she answered, glancing at their clasped hands and then back up to him.

“Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,” he said, pressing her shoulder blade with his fingers to demonstrate the rhythm. “Not really appropriate for Kanye, but we can make do.”

Her grin was back, and she practically bounced on her toes with enthusiasm. “I’m going to be _terrible_ at this! Let’s do it!”

Diggle couldn’t help his answering smile. “You’ll be fine. You’ve seen this in the movies?” he asked, turning her body and his so they were side by side, facing their outstretched hands. “Just walk in that rhythm, left foot first. Ready?”

They were... _awful_. The combination of her hesitancy, the completely inappropriate music, and Diggle’s inability to curb his laughter doomed their attempts to failure. Every once in a while, they would get through a single repeat without her stepping on him, or turning the wrong way, or starting out with the wrong foot and then stomping it in frustration. But, honestly, Dig preferred the times they screwed it up, because Felicity’s laughter was infectious, and he hadn’t had this much silly fun in, God, years.

And if, after a couple tries, Diggle noticed Oliver lurking near the training dummy, arms crossed, brow furrowed as he watched them, well, maybe that’s why he pulled Felicity a little closer. As he suspected, Oliver’s jaw clenched, and then Diggle was laughing for an entirely different reason.

This fool, watching two friends dancing and getting jealous about it. 

Diggle squeezed her waist in warning, then pushed her away and pulled her back, catching her as she tripped and fell into him, giggling against him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly graceful?” he asked with a smirk.

Felicity gasped in mock offense, and smacked his shoulder. “Mean!” She stepped back, her hands on her hips. “See if I ever dance with _you_ again.”

He grinned and backed off, moving to the small workspace where Oliver sharpened his arrows to watch. Because Oliver was still focused on Felicity, who was walking in small circles near the edge of the mats, stretching her arms. 

When she paused by her tablet and switched to something slower and melodic to accompany her cooldown, she bit her lip. Felicity shot Oliver a quick glance before lowering the volume.

“Leave it,” Oliver said, moving slowly toward her. He was speaking in that soft tone he only ever used with Felicity. Diggle sometimes wondered if Oliver saw it -- how obviously and hopelessly he was in love with this woman. But the look on his face right now, hope warring with trepidation… well, maybe Oliver was finally coming around.

Diggle stood very still, like any movement might spook Oliver from... _whatever_ this was. Digg would like to think it was progress, but Oliver had something of a history of one step forward, a baker’s dozen steps ass-backwards. Particularly with women. And most _especially_ with one Felicity Smoak.

Felicity seemed to have the same misgivings as she frowned up at Oliver and said, “But it’s--”

“It’s nice,” Oliver interrupted, and he was actually almost smiling. “Livens up the space a little,” he added.

“Oh.” Felicity nodded, edging the volume up a little bit. “Thanks.” Her hands twisted together nervously, and she didn’t seem to know whether to stand still and talk to Oliver, or go back to cooling down from her workout-slash-dance party.

Oliver halted maybe two paces from her, stuck in what Diggle recognized from half a room away as indecision.

Felicity froze in response, her shoulders tensing. “Oliver?”

“Would you…” He stepped closer, huffed out a nervous breath, and then lifted a hand in her direction. “Would you like to dance?”

Diggle held his breath, wishing like hell he’d just left instead of lingering to watch. Because Oliver had apparently decided that right now was the perfect time to try to bridge the remaining gap between him and Felicity. And as much as Diggle supported the idea -- as much as he’d tried repeatedly to knock sense into Oliver for _months_ \-- he didn’t actually need to be there to witness it.

And he didn’t think Felicity would appreciate an audience. 

But if he moved right now, while this all hung in the balance, he might actually ruin the moment. So he stayed stock still and watched Felicity study Oliver, her lips pressed together.

When she spoke, her voice was low and soft, an echo of the way she and Oliver used to talk to each other. “I’d love to,” she said, and placed her hand in his.

Diggle fought a very unmanly urge to clap, and settled on a wide, ridiculously sappy smile as he watched what he hoped -- God, _please_ \-- was the first step for them. 

Felicity moved cautiously closer, and Oliver’s free hand landed way too respectably high on her hip as he pulled her flush against him. He tucked their clasped hands against his chest, and Felicity’s free palm pressed against his bicep. Felicity’s chin tilted up, and Oliver angled his head down, and they watched each other carefully for a long moment.

When Felicity started to smile, she ducked her head. Oliver released her hip and reached up to touch her chin. “Don’t hide from me, Felicity,” he said, but it sounded more like a plea than a command.

Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath and then she looked up and met his gaze, letting him see the soft smile on her face. “Are you done hiding from me?” she asked.

Oliver fought it for a moment, and then he was grinning at her the way he head for months last summer. “I’ve never been able to hide from you, Felicity.” He let his hand trail along her shoulder, then down to her side, tugging her just a little closer. 

Luckily for Diggle, they were way too focused on each other to notice his quiet movements toward the stairwell. He briefly entertained locking them in there for the night, but figured they were actually maybe starting to make progress on their own. Maybe Roy’s more extreme suggestions wouldn’t be needed after all.

So with one last fond grin in the direction of the couple swaying together on the exercise mats, Diggle eased the door shut behind him. He pulled his phone out on his way to the car and dialed. “Sweetie,” he greeted Lyla, “What do you think about having Oliver and Felicity over for dinner next week?”

He could tell his wife was grinning when she said, “Why do I suspect an ulterior motive is at play?”

Diggle chuckled. “I’m happy to report that Oliver may have finally gotten his shit together.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lyla asked. 

“I hope so.”

“Well, it’s about damned time,” she said.

“It really, _really_ is,” Diggle agreed. “So dinner?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lyla said, and then she started to laugh. “This I’ve gotta see.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: The dinner at Dig & Lyla's is clamoring for attention, so there could be a follow up.


End file.
